


The Highest Bidder

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clerics, Dark Castle, F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7478841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maurice sells Belle to the highest bidder. Rumplestiltskin brings gold, but not because he’s looking for a maid.  Nothing goes as he expected, of course.</p>
<p>From the RCIJ prompt “Maurice sells Belle to Rumple”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Highest Bidder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takethatbembridgescholars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethatbembridgescholars/gifts).



The first time Belle did magic, she was thirteen years old.  She’d been climbing a tree, and a branch fell out from under her.  But she’d climbed too high, and the fall broke both of her legs, bringing her mother and all of her attendants running.  But Belle’s legs straightened back out almost right away, and her screams turned to confused looks.  Lady Colette bundled her daughter off straight away, and tried to keep the news quiet, but of course Sir Maurice found out.  His wife was able to mollify his dislike and distrust of magic, and it worked fairly well…until the ogres came. 

Belle’s magic had been mostly under control until then, escaping in small ways, but it didn’t do anything that couldn’t be explained away with a little creativity.  Colette was good at that, but once Belle’s wild magic reached out and forced the ogres back from their lands, it was impossible to hide her any longer.  Most of the people in the Marchlands rejoiced; they were safe, even if their neighbors were not.  But then, most of them blamed Sir Gaston for earning the ogres’ ire in the first place, because everyone knew the story of what had brought the ogres to their kingdom.  Belle’s magic, however, had _saved_ them, and the people of the Marchlands celebrated.

Sir Maurice, however, was not so comfortable.  On one hand, he had his wife telling him that Belle was a good girl, and that they’d get her every book on magic that they could and make sure she learned to use her magic safely.  On the other, however, lay the Holy Order of Clerics, who whispered and warned that Belle was _dangerous_.  Young women who gained magic _always_ turned to evil, they claimed, providing the examples of Princess Cora, Queen Regina, Maleficent, and dozens of others. 

“We can take her in, keep her safe,” Bishop Chesson told Maurice for the hundredth time.

“Absolutely not.”  Colette disliked speaking over her husband, but she knew that Maurice wasn’t thinking straight about this situation.  “I have heard rather… _concerning_ things about what happens within your Monastery.”

Bishop Chesson drew himself up, huffing irritably.  “All base rumors, My Lady.”

“Hm.”

“Dear, why don’t you allow us to talk about this?” Maurice stroked her arm gently, like she was the most fragile creature in all the world, and it took everything Colette had not to snap at him.  “You’re hardly in a state to make important decisions.”

“I’m pregnant.  Not incompetent.”

“And the healers are worried for your health.  They’re concerned that exposure to someone like Belle—”

“She is my daughter!  And _yours_ , in case you’ve forgotten.”  Colette couldn’t help stepping forward, poking a finger into her husband’s chest.  “Taking care of her is our duty.”

“And that is what I am trying to do.”  Maurice’s face closed off, and Colette knew that stubborn expression.  She cared for her husband, she truly did, but his increasing paranoia—fed by this odious cleric!—concerning Belle’s magic was worrisome.

She wouldn’t have even been pregnant if he hadn’t been willing to accept a fertility charm from the clerics.  Maurice was desperate to leave someone “normal” as his heir, which led Colette to be pregnant at a far older age than women normally were.  Colette didn’t mind; she had always wanted a second child, and she had been heartbroken when the healers had told her she would never have another child after Belle’s birth.  Yet she hadn’t wanted a second child so that Belle could be displaced…and she had only gone along with this scheme because she hoped a pregnancy would distract Maurice from his newfound paranoia concerning their daughter.

That had been a mistake.

“ _These_ people will not take care of Belle.”  Not insulting the clerics was hard.  Colette _knew_ what they did to people.  Unlike Maurice, she had not grown up sheltered in a castle.  Her family had been high-born, but nothing like his, and Colette’s childhood best friend had been taken by the clerics.  “You _cannot_ give her to them!”

She had never seen Renee again.

“I think your lady is over tired, My Lord,” Chesson interjected smoothly, giving her a patronizing look.  “I understand that pregnancy can have that effect.”

Colette bristled.  “Bishop, you go too far.”

Chesson completely ignored her and continued speaking to Maurice.  “My Lord, we will of course take good care of your precious daughter.  Under our guidance, it is possible that she can be fully cured of her magical maladies—and we will, of course, offer you a sum greater than her dowry to compensate you for the loss of her marriage prospects.”

“But she could marry upon her return, of course?” Maurice’s eyes had lit up at the mention of compensation, of course, and Colette wanted to kick him.

“I will not allow you to sell our daughter!”

“Sweetheart, please!” Maurice turned to her, taking Colette’s arms gently.  She glared, but his expression turned pleading.  “Of course I will not sell Belle.  I love her, as you do.  The very idea is ridiculous.”

Maurice changed the subject, and Chesson left soon after.  The subject did not come up again until after Colette was taken to bed for an early childbirth, where she struggled for the better part of a day to bring a son into the world.  The boy survived, and Maurice rejoiced, but Colette lapsed into a coma as her daughter wept for her.

Two days later, the chief cleric returned.

* * *

 

The variety of news that reached the Dark One’s ears was truly extraordinary.  People did the damnedest things, and Rumplestiltskin always wanted to hear about them.  Usually, he did so to keep an eye on his pet queen, to keep her on the right path towards casting the Dark Curse.  But he also enjoyed _knowing_ , relished the power of being an information broker.  If something interesting, particularly something magical, happened in the Enchanted Forest, he wanted to know.  He paid well for that privilege, of course.  When one spun gold, that was the easiest part. 

Just last week, he’d heard of a former prince in the market for vipers from Agrabah, and of some silly queen testing potential princesses with a pea under a mattress.  This week, it was a knight looking to sell his magically inclined daughter to the highest bidder.

Sir Maurice was most interested in sending her to the clerics, of course, but what he really wanted was for his inconveniently magical daughter to be kept away from his newborn son.  Apparently, someone, or someones, had made him believe that his daughter might contaminate his brand new son and heir, and Maurice had worked himself into a worried tizzy over that possibility.  Having one magical child was bad enough, but a ‘responsible’ father couldn’t let that child corrupt the new one.  He made no secret of that when he entertained marriage offers for the girl, spreading word far and wide that whomever could pay the highest price would gain a girl of noble blood, magic, and unsurpassed beauty.

The cold-bloodedness of it made even _Rumplestiltskin’s_ stomach turn.  He didn’t care about how blue her blood was or how beautiful the girl looked, of course.  Beauty was fleeting, and nobility was merely an excuse for egomaniacs to abuse the less fortunate.  But _magic_ …magic mattered.  Magic was power.

And then there were the clerics.

Rumplestiltskin knew what the clerics did.  He knew how many minor magic users disappeared into the maw of their monasteries, knew how many the clerics drained _dry_.  Those people emerged as mere husks of their former selves—if they ever left the monastery at all.  There was no denying that the clerics did some good, but it was mainly for the royals who wanted them to guard virgin daughters and the nobles who needed healers and supposedly wise counsel.  Any peasant could tell different tales, of course.  _Peasants_ knew how many young girls vanished to feed the clerics’ appetites.  Peasants could count the crops claimed by men who had magic to back them, and watched the feasts held within monastery walls with envious eyes.  The farms destroyed because of some ‘taint’ of darkness belonged to peasants; lords would never be accused of being so seduced.  That was always the common folk who could not fight back.  The clerics were bullies at best; at worst, they were monsters with fewer morals than even Rumplestiltskin had.

Any girl who went to them was doomed to a life of degradation and pain.  Particularly one with so much magic that she had diverted an army of ogres all on her own.  _And doubly so for a beautiful one._

He didn’t pity her, of course.  The Dark One did not _pity_.  But he knew an opportunity when he saw one, and Rumplestiltskin could always use new allies.  Regina was proving as unpredictable as she was powerful, and the less he thought of Zelena, the better.  He didn’t _need_ a backup plan, but it was always nice to have a bit of insurance, wasn’t it?

* * *

 

The clerics banished Belle from her mother’s rooms when she tried to heal Colette.  She knew that she shouldn’t—Belle was inexperienced and entirely untrained, save what she’d found in the books her mother had helped her find—but she knew that the clerics were _wrong_.  Everything they did failed to wake Colette, while Belle thought she could see the solution if she looked closely enough.  The clerics’ efforts had only dragged Colette deeper into her coma, and Belle was so worried that her chest hurt.

Keeping her magic from lashing out at them was almost impossible.

“Papa, you have to do something.”  She’d found her father in his study and stormed in, ready to fight for her mother.  _She did everything Father asked of her, gave him a son and an heir.  Surely he is happy now!_

Belle had never expected to be an older sister.  The healers said Colette would never bear another child after Belle’s own birth, and Maurice had seemed content enough with her, until the ‘Magic Issue’ came up.  But now he would be satisfied, wouldn’t he?

Maurice turned to face her.  Was that a slight grimace she saw on his face?  “Do something about what, sweetheart?”

“Mother.  Those clerics are—”

“Doing the best they can, I’m sure.”

Belle put her hands on her hips.  “They aren’t.  I can see what they’re doing, and it’s—”

“They know better than you, Belle.  The clerics are expert healers.”  Maurice cut her off again without even looking guilty.  There had been a time when he listened to everything she said, but those days appeared to have ended when Belle’s magic had emerged.  She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand.  “Bishop Chesson has assigned his best to your mother.  I am sure she will be fine.”

“What if she isn’t?”  Belle couldn’t help the way her voice sounded small.  She was old enough to be a mother herself, but she wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to Colette.  And young Alan needed his mother.

“Of course she will be.  You don’t need to worry about that.”  Once, Maurice would have hugged her and comforted her.

No more.

Belle forced a smile.  “Of course not.  Thank you.”

Feeling utterly useless, she turned and walked out.  Perhaps she could find a book on healing—her mother had secretly bought her several books on magic, and Belle hadn’t had a chance to read them all, yet.  _Someone has to do something,_ she told herself.  _And those clerics don’t know what they’re doing—or they_ want _Mother incapacitated._   Except that couldn’t be true.  The clerics only wanted to help.

Even if Colette had been against their presence in the castle.

* * *

 

They were haggling.  Rumplestiltskin watched from the shadows, using magic to keep himself hidden while he sneered with distaste.  Bishop Chesson—an odious, potbellied man who wore robes of silk instead of wool—was known for being stingy, but clearly he wanted the young lady.  A knight was there, too, one who fancied himself a hunter.  He looked worn and haggard, as well someone busy fighting the ogres should be, yet he’d traveled a long distance to gain this magical girl as his bride.  _Clearly, Sir Gaston thinks that she’ll do the same trick for his kingdom as she did her own,_ Rumplestiltskin thought with a silent giggle.  Laymen never understood that magic was emotion; this Lady Belle—who was probably all of twelve years old, knowing the way the nobility worked—had probably no idea what she’d done to drive the ogres away.  Odds were that she couldn’t replicate it, not even if someone held a sword to her throat.

Another senior cleric was there, too, one from outside the Marchlands.  If Rumplestiltskin didn’t miss his guess, this one was actually from his own homeland, which probably meant his morals were even lower than Chesson’s.  So too was the disgusting Sheriff of Nottingham, who reeked so strongly of drink that Rumplestiltskin could smell him from twenty feet away.  He didn’t seem to have the gold to compete with this group, but the fool thought he could win the girl based on charm alone.

Not that he had any charm, or had managed to get anywhere near the girl, at least so far as Rumplestiltskin could tell.  In fact, Sir Maurice seemed determined to keep his daughter away from this little bidding war, in which both clerics were now offering land, gold, and even jewels that they’d probably confiscated from some ‘sacrilegious’ noble or another.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t care.  They’d argue for hours, if Maurice let them, which meant he had time.

He wanted to find the little lady in question and offer her a deal.

Lady Belle was easier to find than he expected; in fact, when he slipped out of the room, he almost ran right into her.  She was eavesdropping, actually, with her face pressed close to a small peephole that looked right into Sir Maurice’s war room.  Her face was screwed up in a ferocious scowl, and she was so intent on the argument going back and forth between the men that she didn’t even hear him approach.

“Quite the little party going on in there, isn’t it?” He tittered as she spun to face him, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin was struck quite dumb.

Lady Belle was no twelve year old, and she was, well, quite _beautiful_.  Had he been a normal man, she might have even taken his breath away.

“It’s not a party.  It’s an auction.”  Her scowl deepened.

 “An auction all for you, hmm?”  Rumplestiltskin let his voice turn serious—mocking Belle would not help his cause, after all.  “I imagine that’s quite the novel feeling.”

“One I could do without.”  Belle’s stormy expression turned curious as she stepped towards him, clearly trying to figure out who would bother to lurk in the shadows with her instead of drink with the others inside.  “Who are you?”

“Rumplestiltskin, at your service.”  Stepping into the light, he gave her a dramatic, courtly bow, rolling his name off his tongue grandiosely.

It did the trick; she smiled slightly.  “You’re the Dark One.”

“I see my reputation precedes me.”  He grinned like he meant for it to, but Rumplestiltskin hadn’t expected the lady to have heard of him.  _This might be a stumbling block.  What young woman chooses a monster over safety—even the ‘safety’ of the clerics?_

 “No more than the clerics’ does them.”  She met his eyes boldly.   “Are you here to bid, too?”

“I’m here to make _you_ an offer.”  He didn’t _like_ how perceptive Belle was, but that _did_ serve his purposes, didn’t it?  _Clever little doll, this one.  Does her father have any idea what a jewel he is giving away, all because he is afraid of her_ magic _?_   Rumplestiltskin wanted to spit. 

_Fool._

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”  Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, summoning up every bit of showmanship he could muster.  Which, given who and what he was, was quite a bit.  So, he pranced around her, his hands whirling in the air to catch her fascinated eye.  “How would _you_ like to be a proper sorceress?  One with power enough to put your oaf of a father in his place?”

Belle shook her head.  “I don’t want to hurt my father.”

“He’s the one trying to sell you to the clerics, dearie.”  Did the girl know what those beasts would do to her?  Rumplestiltskin was many things, but he was not _that_ type of monster.

“He has to do what is best for our people.”  She said the words stubbornly, as if she had told herself that a thousand times.  Or more.

“Is that what selling off a daughter simply because she has magic is?” he mocked her.  “Fine way he has of thanking you for saving your people, isn’t it?”

“Says the Dark One here to _buy_ me!”

“Oooh.  I’m wounded.”  He placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt by her words—and then ruining that with a grin. “I won’t buy you unless you tell me to, _My Lady._ ”

Belle’s eyes narrowed; she really was as smart as a whip, wasn’t she?  “And why would you do that?  Why would you teach _me_?”

Why, indeed?  That was a complicated question, one Rumplestiltskin was not prepared to answer.  Not now, and perhaps not ever.

“Perhaps I like to confuse people by doing good deeds every now and then.”

She snorted.  “No.  You don’t.”

“Well, true.  I don’t.”  Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help grinning; he liked her smarts and he liked her bravery.  This Belle would make a fine sorceress, if only he could teach her.

“Then why would you offer to teach me?  What would you get out of it?”

“Let’s say you’d owe me a favor.  Or several.”  He gestured vaguely, brushing the idea off like it was nothing.  They always agreed to owing him favors.  _No one_ thought that through.

“Let’s not.”  Belle crossed her arms.  “I’m not signing on for something I don’t understand.”

Rumplestiltskin stopped mid-prance.  That _always_ worked.  What kind of girl _was_ this?  “Ah…what?  What did you say?”

“I said I’m not going to owe you any unspecified favors.”

“Well, then, um…” For a moment, all he could do was stutter, tongue-tied.  Every other person he’d ever taught had jumped at the opportunity.  Was the supposedly smart girl an idiot?  Would she rather the clerics drain her dry and consign her to a lifetime of abuse?

“Why don’t you try your real reason for coming here?” Belle asked.  “I doubt you want favors from someone who can barely control her own magic, and my father isn’t important enough for you to notice me.  So, what do you _actually_ want?”

Damn it all, he’d have to tell her the truth.  Or at least part of it.  Those blue eyes were far too intelligent to fob her off with some empty answer.  Rumplestiltskin squared his shoulders, trying—and failing—not to scowl.  “An alliance, then.  There are great and powerful curses coming, curses that will change the world as we know it—or even the world we know.  I will teach you magic, and you will help me.”

“Help you what?”  She cocked her head.  “I’m not going to conquer or enslave people.  That’s not who I am.”

_I think I’m going to have to teach this one_ light _magic,_ he realized.  The very thought disgruntled Rumplestiltskin, but not nearly as much as it annoyed his ever-present passengers.  _Forget her.  Give her to the clerics and see how her morals stand up to_ that _,_ Zoso snorted in his mind.  _Then you’ll get her cheaper, too.  Pre-broken can be…delightful._ Rumplestiltskin swatted Zoso’s voice away with an effort, ignoring the way his predecessor wanted to leer at the young woman in front of them.  His stomach rolled at the very thought of what Zoso wanted, but Rumplestiltskin knew that he’d always been a disappointing Dark One on that front.

That was a distinction he was more than fine with, too.

“Nothing like that,” he finally remembered to answer her concerns, waving a hand.  “I’m not interested in _conquest_.  Being a king would be boring.”

“Then what would you want help with?”

_Finding my son.  Keeping him safe._   But he couldn’t say that.  He’d _never_ say that.  Admitting to weakness with a potential student was the way to find himself heartbroken and rejected.  He’d been there before.

“Let’s just say that I want a hole card.  Someone…less likely to turn on me than our dear Evil Queen.”  That was even true enough.  Rumplestiltskin didn’t _need_ this young woman’s help.  He wasn’t even entirely sure why he’d sought her out, only that his long-forgotten conscience couldn’t quite stomach leaving her to the clerics.

That, and the idea of watching a father abandon his child to such a fate made him sick.

“And you’ll teach me magic in return for that?”  She looked like she was trying to find the loophole, the way in which he’d trap her via the fine print.  Ironically, for once in Rumplestiltskin’s life, there _wasn’t_ such a catch.

“I will.”  He gestured at the wall, behind which they could both hear Gaston roaring out some boast or another.  “I will pay your father the gold he desires, and you need never see this place again.”  Rumplestiltskin laughed.  “And if you do return, you’ll return a sorceress who no mere _knight_ can force to his will ever again.”

He could tell that she liked that.  Lady Belle was clearly not the type who wanted some man to rescue her.  She wanted to save herself.

“I want to heal my mother.”

“You what?”  What did her mother have to do with anything?

“She fell into a deep sleep after childbirth.  No one can wake her, and I think the clerics are making it worse.  Can you teach me how?”

He could probably heal her mother with a gesture, but she hadn’t asked that.  “I can.”

“Will you?”

“Clever girl.”  He had to smile, yet the expression felt oddly warm on his face.  “Yes, I will teach you.”

“Then I will go with you.”  Belle’s chin came up bravely.

Rumplestiltskin wiggled with glee, clapping his hands.  “Then gather your belongings, dearie, while I deal with your _loving_ father.  I won’t be long.”

Buying Sir Maurice off turned out to be ridiculously simple, actually.  Rumplestiltskin did have to deal with the pair of clerics calling him an abomination and a monster, but that was nothing new.  He managed not to kill either of them—barely!—though Sir Gaston did wind up turned into a cushion when he tried to run him through.  Rumplestiltskin sat on him (as a cushion, of course) through the negotiations, turning him back only once a price had been agreed upon.  He didn’t mention magic, or tell Maurice why he wanted his daughter, though.  He figured that Belle could handle that herself, in time.

Then he whisked his new student away to the Dark Castle, where he quickly learned that she was a curious girl—and far more trouble than he had expected.  He could handle her—of course he could!—but Belle’s quick mind got her in more trouble then it got her out of, and Rumplestiltskin soon found himself wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into.  Belle was no Regina or Cora (and thankfully she was nothing like Zelena).  She was _nice_ , and kind, and he soon found himself warming to her.

Not that it mattered.  Beautiful maidens did not care for monsters like him.

* * *

 

“I did it!”

Two months later, Belle succeeded in transforming the mess of vines and weeds in the garden into a beautiful canopy of roses, and she turned to him with a beaming smile.  Then, much to Rumplestiltskin’s surprise, she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You, um…Ah, so you did,” he stuttered, not knowing what to do with his arms full of a beautiful woman.

Belle pulled back, beaming at him.  “Thank you for letting me fix the garden.  It looks so beautiful.”

“Beautiful.”  Rumplestiltskin snorted, looking around and wishing she wasn’t right.  What Dark One in his right mind would let their student change an overgrown, _threatening_ garden into a beautifully maintained one full of flowers?  _You did, you fool._   He scowled.  “Yes, it’s quite beautiful.”

He liked pretty things, of course, but this was getting quite ridiculous.  First, Belle had climbed up on a ladder to pull the curtains down that had been covering his windows—and then he’d _caught_ her when the fool girl had fallen down!—and now he’d let her bring his garden back to life.  His dark and foreboding castle was turning into a haven of light and cheerfulness, and _damn her,_ he’d come to like it.

“Don’t you like it?”  Wide blue eyes turned on him, and Rumplestiltskin tried not to melt.

_Beautiful maidens do not fall for monsters,_ he told himself firmly.  _She’s merely being kind.  Belle is_ always _kind.  To everyone._

“This is supposed to be the den of a frightening monster, dearie.”  But the words lacked heat, even when he tried a repulsive giggle on for size.

“I don’t think you’re frightening.”  Smiling, she took his hand and pulled him back towards the castle. 

“Well—well, you’re different!”  The words stumbled out of him as he stared at how her smooth white hand contrasted with his ugly scaled one, but Rumplestiltskin found himself following her like a lost puppy.

Belle shot him a grin over her shoulder.  “Or maybe you’re a better man than you think you are.”

“I’m not a man.”

“You’re more of a man than all those idiots who bid on me.  And _you_ saved me.”

“Hardly.”  He snorted.  “I’m no shining knight who wants to wed you and bed you, dearie.  You’re safe in that regard.”

Belle stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into her.  “What if I wanted you to?”

“Wha— _what_?”

“Nothing.”  Her smile was positively naughty, but Rumplestiltskin was too busy trying to process the words she’d just said.  She couldn’t have—couldn’t have meant… Suddenly, Belle stepped in close to kiss him on the cheek.  “Come on.  I want to read up on healing spells before dinner.”

She pulled him forward again, and Rumplestiltskin stumbled after her in a daze.

* * *

 

A week later, he found himself waking Lady Colette from her coma—something he’d offered to do in a fit of insanity, and found himself unable to regret.  Rumplestiltskin knew that he was head over heels in love with his student, but what he _didn’t_ understand was her soft touches and her gentle smiles.  She seemed to genuinely enjoy his presence, even when she was baiting him and challenging him.  Belle was fascinated by the fact that he had finally bottled True Love, and had weaseled the truth about the Dark Curse out of him just the day before…yet she was still with him.

She wasn’t his prisoner, and Rumplestiltskin had told her a thousand times that she didn’t have to stay, yet she _did_.  She’d spent the night before reading to him while he dozed with his head in her lap, marveling at the fact that such a beautiful and perfect young woman would ever seek out his touch.  But they were growing closer and closer, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart beat faster every time he so much as spotted her in the castle.  He didn’t want to hope, didn’t dare to, not after what had happened with Cora.  Belle, however, was not Cora.  And so he had offered her what he knew she wanted more than anything, to give her back the parent that loved her.

He was certain that would make her leave.

Healing Colette was easier than it should have been; the clerics had done everything they could to keep her under, but she was hardly at death’s door.  Rumplestiltskin left mother and daughter alone to reunite, and was surprised when Belle called him in after only a few minutes.

“Mama, this is Rumplestiltskin.”  Belle drew him to Colette’s bedside by the hand.  “He is my teacher, and my friend.”

Her _friend._   Rumplestiltskin tried not to smile too hard at that one.

“Thank you for healing me,” Colette’s smile was surprisingly genuine.  What _had_ Belle told her about him?  “And thank you for saving my daughter from those monsters.”

“I, um—that is to say, I…” People usually called _him_ the monster, and Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure what to say.

“What he’s trying to say is ‘you’re welcome’,” Belle supplied with a smile.

She still hadn’t let go of his hand.

“I can tell.”  Colette’s grin was much like her daughter’s, and if Rumplestiltskin had ever wondered how that oaf Sir Maurice had been able to sire such a kind-hearted daughter, he wondered no longer.

“I can’t stay long.  Papa doesn’t want me here, and I still have so much to learn.”  Belle’s smile turned fierce.  “But if he ever gives you any trouble, Rumple and I will be here right away.”

_We will?_

“I can handle your father.”  Colette leaned forward to kiss her daughter on the cheek.  “Now, go say hello to your brother.  I will watch over your friend while you do.”

“Of course.”  Belle squeezed his hand and was gone, off to see her now three-month-old baby brother.

And leaving Rumplestiltskin alone with her _mother_.

“You love my daughter, don’t you?” At least she was direct, even if she asked the question he _never_ wanted to answer.

“I—” Rumplestiltskin gulped nosily.  He wanted to deny it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to.  The word came out in a whisper: “Yes.”

“Good.”

“ _Good?_ ”  He gaped.

“She loves you far more than she ever did that idiot Gaston who her father wanted to betroth her to.”  Colette snorted.  “He was even less intelligent than the animals he hunted.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help giggling.  “Still is, I believe.”  

But his heart was racing like a runaway horse.  _Belle loves me?  Impossible.  Beautiful maidens do not—_

“You are not what I thought you would be,” Colette said softly.  “And I can see in her eyes what you mean to her.  Will you treat her well?”

“I’m not—I mean, we’re not…”

“Oh, dear. You haven’t spoken of this at all, have you?  Not a word?”

He gulped again.  “No.”

“Then I will say no more.”  Colette reached out and touched his hand, every bit as fearless as her daughter.  “But if you can make her happy, you will have no argument from me.  And I won’t speak a word of this conversation to Belle, either.”

Rumplestiltskin had no answer for that.  He just stared at her speechlessly.

* * *

 

“Why did you heal my mother?” Belle asked after they’d returned to the Dark Castle.

“I promised I would.”  Rumplestiltskin kept his eyes on the wheel; it was easier to focus on than the beautiful woman who he wanted so badly to love.

Belatedly, he realized that the closer she was to him, the quieter the voices in his mind grew.  _Creak, creak,_ went the wheel.  But the Dark Ones were silent.

“No, you promised to teach me.  But this morning, you offered out of the blue.  Why?”

“No reason.”

_Creak, creak._

The silence was beautiful.

“Rumple.”  Suddenly, the golden thread left his hands as Belle moved it out of the way to sit in front of him, facing him squarely.  “Please tell me why.”

“Why do you stay?” he countered, unable to look away from her blue eyes.

“Because I want to.”  Her smile turned shy.  “I like being here.  With you.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard.  “With…me?”

_Beautiful maidens do not love monsters._

_They don’t._

“Yes.”  Leaning close, Belle put a hand on his thigh, and Rumplestiltskin felt like his skin was on fire.  Her touch was light, as gentle as always, but he wanted her too badly to form words.  “Don’t you want me to stay?”

“Of course I do.”  The words came out so quickly that they were almost unintelligible, but Belle smiled.

“Good.”

Belle leaned forward to kiss him, and _everything changed._


End file.
